Chapter 4: The Unspoken Pact

On the day I was discharged from the hospital, Ethan came to pick me up himself.

The nurse wheeled me out to the lobby, and there he was: pressed suit, car keys dangling from his fingers, face set in that unreadable Caldwell expression. For a second, I wondered if anyone would guess we were married, or just two strangers sharing an elevator.

The hospital room was overflowing with fruit baskets and flowers from friends and family, plus my toiletries and clothes.

There were so many cards and bouquets, the place looked like a florist’s shop the day before Valentine’s. Jessica had even left a tacky balloon, which bobbed cheerfully above the chaos. I tried not to think about how much of it was for show.

He packed everything carefully, then went to handle the discharge papers.

He moved quietly, folding my sweaters and tucking my shampoo into a duffel bag. It was the kind of domestic chore that felt both intimate and strange, like watching a CEO file paperwork for someone else's life.

When we went downstairs, he carried all the bags himself.

The elevator was crowded—nurses, a woman with a baby, an elderly couple. Ethan juggled everything without complaint, muscles taut under his shirt sleeves. For a moment, I was oddly grateful for his silent competence.

There were a lot of people in the elevator. He stood next to me, body angled just so, shielding me inside.

He kept his stance wide, making sure nobody jostled me or bumped my sore arm. His presence was a barrier, as solid as the doors sliding shut behind us. Somebody’s toddler was singing Baby Shark on repeat, and Ethan didn’t even flinch.

Even now, he kept his cool.

It was the signature Caldwell calm, the kind that never cracked under pressure. I envied it, even as I resented it.

Not a hint of panic.

He could have been in a boardroom or a courtroom, for all anyone knew. Only I saw the little muscle twitch at his jaw, the way his eyes flicked to me every few seconds.

After leaving the elevator, I thanked him sincerely.

He seemed surprised, maybe even a little uncomfortable. I meant it, though; it was the first time I’d seen him do something for me that wasn’t out of obligation.

Ethan glanced at me. “No need to be so formal, after all…”

He trailed off, the words hanging between us. His eyes drifted past me, searching for an exit from the conversation.

He stopped.

Something shifted in his posture, a sudden tension. I followed his gaze, my pulse picking up without warning.

His gaze drifted past me, looking somewhere else.

I turned, the sterile hallway suddenly charged with something I couldn’t name.

I followed his eyes—and saw Riley Monroe.

There she was, plain jeans and a faded hoodie, her hair pulled back in a messy ponytail. She walked slowly, supporting a woman who looked tired and in pain. Even from across the room, I could see the stubborn set of Riley’s jaw.

She was dressed simply, still holding a bag of medicine, helping a middle-aged woman walk out.

The woman leaned on Riley’s arm, her face drawn. The contrast between us was striking: me in designer flats, her in battered sneakers. I wondered if Ethan noticed it, too.

I noticed the woman’s left leg was a little stiff, making it hard for her to walk.

She winced with each step, Riley murmuring encouragement. There was nothing showy about their interaction—just a quiet, fierce tenderness.

I looked away and turned back—Ethan was already gone.

He moved so quickly I barely saw him slip away. For a second, I felt both relieved and abandoned.

He walked away fast.

He disappeared into the crowd, bags still slung over his shoulder, like he couldn’t stand to linger in the same space as Riley Monroe.

I hurried to catch up, not sure if I wanted to talk or was just curious, but I blurted out, “Aren’t you going to check on them? I can go home by myself.”

The words came out sharper than I intended. I couldn’t decide if I wanted him to run to Riley or stay with me. The confusion sat heavy in my stomach.

As soon as I said it, Ethan stopped.

He turned on his heel, the muscles in his neck taut. I nearly crashed into his back, caught off guard by the sudden halt.

I bumped right into his back.

My face flushed, but he didn’t react. He just stood there, silent and unmoving.

He lowered his head, his expression calm. “No need, let’s go.”

His voice was measured, but there was an edge to it—a warning I couldn’t quite decipher.

I nodded, then heard his voice again—soft, with a hint of warning.

He rarely raised his voice, but when he did, you knew it meant business. I braced myself for what was coming next.

“Natalie.”

The way he said my name was almost a reprimand, almost a plea. I swallowed hard.

“I told you about her and me because I don’t want any more drama.”

“But if you think that means you can get involved—”

His tone sharpened, making it clear the subject wasn’t up for debate. The message was obvious: this was his line in the sand.

“Then you’re wrong.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to. The wall was up, and I was on the other side.

The hospital lobby was bustling. I quickly looked down. “Oh.”

I stared at my shoes, the pattern of the tiles suddenly fascinating. I wished I could shrink into the floor and disappear.

“Sorry, I shouldn’t have said anything.”

My voice was small, almost lost in the noise. I hated how uncertain I sounded, but I couldn’t help it.

He cares about Riley so much; of course he doesn’t want anyone to see her struggling or look down on her.

That’s what made him different—his protectiveness. Even if it meant leaving me behind, he’d never let Riley bear the weight of anyone’s pity.